His Parting from Her by John Donne

Name: His Parting from Her
Author: John Donne

In "His Parting from Her," the speaker laments that his beloved must leave him, calling on night to surround him with a darkness that cannot equal the private hell he faces once his love is gone. He accuses Love itself of cruelty for mixing fire and torment, wondering if Love is blind and so forces the two of them to lose sight of each other, or takes pleasure in breaking them on its wheel. He rejects the idea that any failed rite between the lovers caused this, and instead blames himself, or conspiring destiny, which decreed that he suffer now that he loves in earnest, having once loved only in jest. He compares his loss to seeing golden fruit snatched away, or watching a single drop in a vast stream and finding himself only wealthy in a dream. He then turns on Love again for punishing his "dove-like friend" for his own faults, comparing this to blind justice striking a favourite's whole household when the favourite falls. He recalls how Love first kindled their desire and forced them into dangerous, secret paths of courtship, hedged round by household spies and by her husband's jealous, towering watchfulness. Despite this, he insists, they remained constant: keeping watch like rival spies, exchanging signals under the enemy's nose, stealing meetings, conversation, embraces, and kisses, disguising their glances under feigned negligence, and speaking through winks, becks, and looks, even tapping messages with their feet under tables. Having endured this "purgatory" of secrecy, he protests that sad divorce should not now make them common gossip. He wishes their eyes could fuse through their turning brains, their lips grow together, and their arms lock like ivy, freezing them together so that Fortune, in tearing them apart, would have to strain and bleed its own eyes open to do it. He absolves Love of this particular mischief and instead curses Fortune directly, declaring that he and his friend possess charms that, while unable to stop Fortune's blows, can blunt their harm. Though Fortune may rend their bodies apart, he insists their souls remain tied, and they can continue to love through letters, gifts, thoughts, and dreams, since love never lacks resources. He vows that he will not look at the sun without her beauty coming to mind; the air will remind him of her softness, fire of her purity, water of her clarity, and earth of her constancy. He resolves that time itself will preserve their history together: spring will recall how fresh their love was at its start, summer how it ripened, and autumn what rich harvest it yielded; only winter he refuses to dwell on, out of spite toward it, and trusts she will do the same. Addressing her as his dearest friend, he urges her to drown the night in hope of day, since burdens are lighter when borne with hope, and notes that though cold and darkness may linger longer in some places, the sun still lights the whole sphere equally, so that what they cannot repay each other in equal measure, the world at large supplies. He urges her to remain herself, not to let sorrow diminish her health, youth, or beauty, and to treat Fortune's inconstancy with the contempt it deserves, so that he might come to love her mind all the more when he finds his own thoughts neglected here. Finally, he vows to his dear that his conduct will remain exactly as it is now: the poles would have to stop moving before he would change, and only if heaven itself lost motion and the world lost fire would his desire cool. He acknowledges he could say much more, but that excessive protestation breeds suspicion, and closes by declaring that he loves so truly that he will demand no less constancy in return from her.

By John Donne · First published 1635 · Genre: Metaphysical Poetry, Dramatic Monologue, Love Poetry · 1,350 words

First lines

Since she must go, and I must mourn, come night, / Environ me with darkness, whilst I write; / Shadow that hell unto me, which alone / I am to suffer when my love is gone. / Alas! the darkest magic cannot do it, / And that great hell, to boot, are shadows to it. / Should Cynthia quit thee, Venus, and each star, / It would not form one thought dark as mine are. / I could lend them obscureness now, and say / Out of myself, there should be no more day. / Such is already my self-want of sight, / Did not the fire within me force a light. / O Love, that fire and darkness should be mix'd, / Or to thy triumphs such strange torments fix'd! / Is it because thou thyself art blind, that we, / Thy martyrs, must no more each other see? / Or takest thou pride to break us on thy wheel, / And view old Chaos in the pains we feel? / Or have we left undone some mutual rite, / That thus with parting thou seek'st us to spite? / No, no. The fault is mine, impute it to me, / Or rather to conspiring destiny, / Which, since I loved in jest before, decreed / That I should suffer, when I loved indeed; / And therefore, sooner now than I can say, / I saw the golden fruit, 'tis rapt away; / Or as I'd watch'd one drop in the vast stream, / And I left wealthy only in a dream. / Yet, Love, thou'rt blinder than myself in this, / To vex my dove-like friend for my amiss; / And where one sad truth may expiate / Thy wrath, to make her fortune run my fate. / So blinded justice doth, when favourites fall, / Strike them, their house, their friends, their favourites all. / Was't not enough that thou didst dart thy fires / Into our bloods, inflaming our desires, / And madest us sigh, and blow, and pant, and burn, / And then thyself into our flames didst turn? / Was't not enough that thou didst hazard us / To paths in love so dark and dangerous, / And those so ambush'd round with household spies, / And over all thy husband's towering eyes, / Inflamed with th' ugly sweat of jealousy; / Yet went we not still on in constancy? / Have we for this kept guards, like spy on spy? / Had correspondence whilst the foe stood by? / Stolen, more to sweeten them, our many blisses / Of meetings, conference, embracements, kisses? / Shadow'd with negligence our best respects? / Varied our language through all dialects / Of becks, winks, looks, and often under boards / Spoke dialogues with our feet far from our words? / Have we proved all the secrets of our art, / Yea, thy pale inwards, and thy panting heart? / And, after all this passed purgatory, / Must sad divorce make us the vulgar story? / First let our eyes be riveted quite through / Our turning brain, and both our lips grow to; / Let our arms clasp like ivy, and our fear / Freeze us together, that we may stick here, / Till Fortune, that would ruin us with the deed, / Strain his eyes open, and yet make them bleed. / For Love it cannot be, whom hitherto / I have accused, should such a mischief do. / O Fortune, thou'rt not worth my least exclaim, / And plague enough thou hast in thy own name. / Do thy great worst; my friend and I have charms, / Though not against thy strokes, against thy harms. / Rend us in sunder; thou canst not divide / Our bodies so, but that our souls are tied, / And we can love by letters still and gifts, / And thoughts and dreams; love never wanteth shifts. / I will not look upon the quickening sun, / But straight her beauty to my sense shall run; / The air shall note her soft, the fire, most pure; / Waters suggest her clear, and the earth sure. / Time shall not lose our passages; the spring, / How fresh our love was in the beginning; / The summer, how it ripen'd in the year; / And autumn, what our golden harvests were; / The winter I'll not think on to spite thee, / But count it a lost season; so shall she. / And dearest friend, since we must part, drown night / With hope of day-burdens well borne are light-; / The cold and darkness longer hang somewhere, / Yet Phoebus equally lights all the sphere; / And what we cannot in like portion pay / The world enjoys in mass, and so we may. / Be then ever yourself, and let no woe / Win on your health, your youth, your beauty; so / Declare yourself base Fortune's enemy, / No less be your contempt than her inconstancy; / That I may grow enamour'd on your mind, / When mine own thoughts I here neglected find. / And this to the comfort of my dear I vow, / My deeds shall still be what my deeds are now; / The poles shall move to teach me ere I start; / And when I change my love, I'll change my heart. / Nay, if I wax but cold in my desire, / Think, heaven hath motion lost, and the world, fire, / Much more I could, but many words have made / That oft suspected which men most persuade. / Take therefore all in this; I love so true, / As I will never look for less in you.

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His Parting from Her is listed on Textopian as a poem by John Donne, dated 1635 CE.

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Work type: Poem
Author: John Donne
Date: 1635 CE
Language: English
Genres: Metaphysical Poetry, Dramatic Monologue, Love Poetry, Lyric Poetry, Elegy
Length: 1,350 words
Structure: 1 section, 1 paragraphs
Reading fit: Fairly Easy (7th Grade)

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Similar titles

Genres

Metaphysical Poetry — Exemplifies Donne's metaphysical style with elaborate conceits (darkness and fire mixed, love as blindness), intellectual paradoxes, and philosophical exploration of love's contradictions using complex logical argument.
Dramatic Monologue — A single speaker directly addresses Love, Fortune, and the absent beloved through sustained apostrophe and argument, creating dramatic tension and emotional urgency.
Love Poetry — Central subject is romantic love, separation of devoted lovers, constancy despite forced parting, and the speaker's passionate devotion despite external obstacles.
Lyric Poetry — Emphasizes personal emotional expression and introspection with musical quality in rhyming couplets, focusing on the speaker's inner suffering and reflection rather than external narrative.